


long live the future!

by Murf1307



Series: French Vanilla and Haunted Houses [6]
Category: Les Misérables - Victor Hugo, Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Barricades, Execution, Les Mis AU, M/M, SPN characters in Les Mis roles, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-13
Updated: 2013-06-13
Packaged: 2017-12-14 20:06:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/840860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Murf1307/pseuds/Murf1307
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Les Mis/SPN crossover fusion. In this universe, Anna Milton is Enjolras, but the role of gentle Jean Prouvaire falls on Alan J. Corbett.</p>
            </blockquote>





	long live the future!

**Author's Note:**

> Written for prompt #31, Flowers.

Zeddmore was the first to notice, as the clamor of the first engagement died down, that Corbett was nowhere to be seen — not among the men still standing, nor among the wounded, nor among the dead.

“Where is he?” he cried out, turning to search out Anna with his eyes.

She looked back upon him gravely and then cast her eyes at the spy they had tied nearby. She need not say anymore; the answer was clear.

Zeddmore stumbled back, thighs colliding with the sturdy barricade. He said nothing for a moment.

“We could wave a flag of truce,” said Bradbury in the silence, her gaze darting among the rest. “Trade our man for theirs —”

Anna stopped her, moving silently to still her with a hand on her arm.

In the quiet, there was heard a tumult at the end of the street. Men shouting, cursing — one cried out in pain, but it was an unfamiliar voice. Zeddmore felt his own heart thrumming in his chest nearly double time, and there was a shaking in him that would not stop.

He scaled the barricade, despite the wrath in Anna’s eyes, just enough to see for himself in the warm light of a June morning. Three of their men had been taken; one was already dead.

Not Corbett. Corbett stood, obviously beaten but unbowed, always unbowed and unbroken. His hands were tied at his back, and he bit at anyone who tried to put a blindfold over his eyes. They were going to execute him, right there.

A noise died in Zeddmore’s throat and he shook more, the memory of a hand in his only hours before still strong.

Finally, the guards gave up on trying to blindfold Corbett, and arranged themselves to fire. Against it all, Corbett was smiling, as soft as he had ever been. A flower of blood — not his own — could be seen blooming on his cheek even from here.

But Spring was dead, and the heat of June was not always good for Springtime’s flowers.

“Long live the future!” Corbett cried out as the guards leveled their guns.

Then the report sounded. When the smoke cleared, Alan J. Corbett was no more. He lay as though struck by a thunderbolt, but his dying shout still echoed in the memory.

Zeddmore dropped to the pavement that had not yet been torn up. Death was in his eyes when he turned and approached the spy, heedless of the other report sounding now behind him.

And he said to him there, “Your friends have just shot you.”


End file.
